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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29273271">I’ll Follow You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlattei/pseuds/moonlattei'>moonlattei</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunters, Angst, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Bisexual Charles Smith (Red Dead Redemption), Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Cowboys, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies, Enemies to Lovers, Gunshot Wounds, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:41:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29273271</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlattei/pseuds/moonlattei</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 1885, a young Arthur Morgan is being pursued by the infamous bounty hunter, Charles Smith. After many encounters, the two begin to understand each other more, and soon feelings develop.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Charthur - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. His Temerity.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1885, the most notorious and youngest outlaw has his wanted poster posted on a board in a small town. Charles Smith, a young man who often sought bounties, is endeared by the relentless look in this man’s eyes. Arthur Morgan, the name rolls around his head as he opens the sheriff’s office.<br/>
‘Mr Smith!’ The sheriff says in surprise, he removes his feet off his desk and stands before him.<br/>
‘This man,’ Charles places the poster on his desk, pointing at the picture.<br/>
‘Arthur Morgan.’ The name moves through his mouth like a vapour, it feels natural.<br/>
‘What has he done?’<br/>
The sheriff sighs before pouring a cup of coffee and handing it to Charles. ‘He runs in a gang,’ he explains. ‘Dutch Van Der Linde.’<br/>
Charles nods, he was familiar with the gang, small in numbers, quick and smart.<br/>
‘Most would describe Morgan as Van Der Linde’s second hand man. Wherever Dutch goes, he follows. He’s twenty to twenty three years of age, young for a man like him.’<br/>
Charles’s eyes stays on the poster as he studies the face. A resentful scowl paints Arthur’s face, his eye is bruised and his lip is cut.<br/>
‘They robbed a bank,’ the sheriff continues. ‘Out near West Elizabeth. A small town bank but they made off with a lot of money.’<br/>
‘How much?’ Charles asks, folding the poster and shoving it into his satchel.<br/>
‘Fifteen thousand dollars.’<br/>
Charles huffs, that would explain his bounty; three thousand dollars on his head.<br/>
He nods, opening the door and stepping out. ‘Alright, I’ll do my best.’ </p><p>~</p><p>‘Hey.’ Dutch steps out of his tent, book in hand, with a sly smirk. Arthur rolls his eyes as he brushes Boadicea.<br/>
‘What you want?’<br/>
Dutch chuffs, he opens the book and points to a line. ‘Here, look.’ Arthur sighs and looks at what he’s pointing to. ‘Read it,’ Dutch demands, handing the book over to Arthur.<br/>
He takes it, reading the spine, ‘The… What?’<br/>
‘Iliad. Go on.’<br/>
Arthur sighs. ‘Like the generation of leaves, the lives of mortal men. Now the wind scatters the old leaves across the earth, now the living timber bursts with the new buds and spring comes round again. And so with men; as one generation comes to life… another dies away.’<br/>
Arthur’s silent for a moment, re-reading what he had just read before handing the book back. ‘I don’t know what that means,’ he mumbles, turning back his attention to Bo.<br/>
‘Sure you do, son. Listen.’ Dutch clears his throat, his smile growing bigger. ‘We are not going to be like these men, Arthur. I… I mean, we? We will keep doing what we are doing. Without us, the poor? The rich? Well, there would be no balance. Our kind, Arthur? We’ll outlive all of these fools.’<br/>
Arthur nods in compliance. He doesn’t truly understand most of what Dutch was trying to say, only agreeing to please him. </p><p>It’s early morning when Arthur takes his bags to Bo. He stows them on the bag of her saddle before returning to camp, where he finds Hosea reading a book while sipping on coffee.<br/>
‘You ain’t becoming some sort of literary genius now are you, Hosea?’ Arthur groans, sitting beside his mentor. He takes the coffee pot and pours himself a drink as Hosea chuckles.<br/>
‘No, son. No. I’m just enjoying some light reading before the day begins. Say, where you off to?’<br/>
Arthur smiles. ‘Don’t laugh, I’m goin’ hunting. I’ll be back in a few days, figured I’d get an early start.’<br/>
Hosea smiles, setting down his book as he looks proudly at Arthur. ‘Your first hunting trip by yourself, you gonna be careful?’<br/>
‘Course,’ Arthur replies matter of factly, setting down his cup before standing. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’<br/>
Hosea humms. ‘Well, you be careful. Don’t go too far.’ </p><p>Arthur savours his time when he’s out, the nature he often connects with makes him feel grounded after long days of robbing and stealing. He rides twenty miles from camp, feeling brave and needing to reconnect. But most of all, some space. </p><p>He kills two rabbits, stows one on his horse, and uses the other for his meal. He sits at the edge of a waterfall that overlooks a long canyon, a rapid river flows through. It isn’t complete peace and quiet, but the noise fades as he sets up at the edge of the cliff. The mist settles gently on his face, telling him he’s where he needs to be. As the rabbit cooks, he hitches Bo, brushing her mane and feeding her an apple before letting her rest. He then takes out his journal and pencil, sketching the beautiful view he was sitting upon. The fire crackles and the water rushes. It hadn’t reached the evening yet, the sun illuminates the sky in an electrifying orange and pink.<br/>
Arthur turns around after putting his journal away. Much to his surprise and dismay, a bow is pointed directly at his face.<br/>
The man holding it is a strong, muscular man. His long dark hair waves in the wind, a feather is braided amongst the locks. ‘Stay there,’ the man mutters. He draws the bow. ‘Arthur Morgan?’ He asks.<br/>
Arthur puts his hands up slowly and begins to step back. ‘No sir,’ he replies. ‘I ain’t him.’<br/>
‘You sure look like him.’ Charles’s eyebrows furrow, molding his face into a stern scowl as his eyes don’t leave Arthur. ‘What’s your name then?’<br/>
‘Ilia. Ilia Jameson.’<br/>
Charles drops his bow before reaching into his satchel and pulling out a poster. The wanted poster shows Arthur, the bounty three thousand dollars. He’s almost bemused as Charles hands him the poster.<br/>
‘This is you, Mr Morgan.’ He isn’t angry, like most bounty hunters. He’s relatively calm, he stows his bow and pulls out some rope. ‘I’m sorry but this is where it ends for you.’<br/>
Arthur clicks his tongue, taking another step back as his heels reach the edge of the cliff. ‘I, er, I don’t think so Mr…’<br/>
‘Smith. Charles Smith.’<br/>
‘Ah,’ Arthur smiles. ‘Yeah, I heard of you. Youngest bounty hunter the state has seen.’ Arthur nods as his eyes flicker behind him, the water rushes beneath him. ‘Yeah…’<br/>
Charles sighs, taking a step forward. ‘It’d be easier if you step away from the edge, Mr Morgan.’<br/>
Arthur smiles, his hands lowering as he feigns submission. ‘Sure.’<br/>
Before Charles is able to react, Arthur takes one more step back and plunges into the water. It’s a long, hard fall but the water consumes him. It fills his lungs as he fights his way to the top of the river. The rapids throw him against the rocks as he looks for a gap to escape. Soon, a riverbank appears. He pulls himself up, coughing and spluttering, yet chuckling at his demise.<br/>
‘You goddamn idiot, Morgan,’ he mutters to himself, pulling himself up and looking back at the cliff edge he had escaped from.<br/>
At the top, where Charles stands. Arthur waves, a smirk escaping his lips before he whistles for Boadicea.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Another Gang's Demise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Gang moves to Chicago as Charles is close on their heels.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Charles sits in the Green Cliff Saloon, fingering the whiskey he sips. He picks at the nuts the bartender places in front of him, his mind wanders to Arthur. He’s young, younger than Charles anticipated, around the same age as him. He’s also cocky and smart, maybe smarter than he lets on. His mind doesn’t wander from Arthur as he leaves the saloon and picks up his trail.<br/>~<br/>Arthur reaches camp by the next morning. He isn’t panicking, yet paranoid he is still being followed by Charles Smith. No one is awake when Arthur rides in. He left most of his clothes at the camp, all of his camping gear, but luckily made off with his satchel. The golden glow of the sky illuminates softly on his face as he hitches Boadicea, giving her a piece of hay and a peppermint for riding so far. He begrudgingly walks into camp and sits at the campfire when Hosea walks up behind him.<br/>‘Back already?’ Hosea asks, handing Arthur a coffee before sitting next to him. Arthur huffs, taking the cup and sipping at it. ‘Yeah, don’t think I’ll be going out for a while.’<br/>Hosea raises an eyebrow, nudging Arthur. ‘Something happen?’<br/>Arthur hesitates before admitting to his fault. ‘Bounty hunter caught up to me. Nearly got me but I got away.’ Hosea sighs, his mind fogging with thoughts of what had happened, and what could have happened.<br/>‘I didn’t kill ‘im, don’t worry. I actually,’ Arthur chuckles. ‘I was sitting near a cliff edge, over some water. Jumped in and swam away.’ Hosea shakes his head, scoffing in disbelief as Arthur laughs.<br/>‘You’re crazy,’ Hosea chuckles lightly. ‘Where was this anyway?’<br/>‘Near Green Cliff, over by-‘<br/>‘Yeah I know where that is,’ Hosea says sternly. ‘That’s far, Arthur. What if you got caught? You think me and Dutch would have thought to get you if went miles away?’<br/>Arthur doesn’t reply. He knows Hosea’s right but the need for freedom was pulling at his mind, a nagging thought. Arthur had worked for the camp everyday for the past eight years. He’s robbed, stole, acted, shoveled shit, and all he needs is to get away back to the nature he craves so much. Hosea sees on Arthur’s face the contorted look of subjection. ‘Listen, son,’ Hosea begins. He places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, looking deeply at his face. ‘There’ll be a time where you can go out for however long you want. Maybe I shouldn’t have let you go,’ he says, mostly to himself. ‘But, right now? We have to keep a low profile.’ Arthur nods.<br/>‘Get some sleep now, son.’<br/>Arthur reluctantly takes himself back to his tent where he throws his shoes off and takes out his journal.<br/><em>What a fool I am. My brush with capture, and maybe death, and yet all I can think about is going back outside. Those hours of peace with Boadicea were the calmest I have felt in a long while.</em><br/><em>Charles Smith. A young bastard who nearly got me. I’ll remember him, and god forbid I encounter him once more.</em></p><p> </p><p>‘We have to move.’<br/>Dutch is standing in his tent, his bags on his cot as Hosea and Arthur stand behind him. They exchange a knowing look of confusion and worry as Dutch moves around his tent.<br/>‘Dutch,’ Hosea begins, he clears his throat and takes a step towards the man. ‘Green Cliff is far and it’s been a few days since-’<br/>‘If that man managed to track Arthur into the middle of nowhere, I have no doubt he has the skills to find us here, Hosea.’ Arthur takes a step back as the two talk, his eyes drift and meet Bessie’s, who was standing close to the tent with a sad smile on her face.<br/>‘Where would we go?’ Hosea asks. Dutch thinks for a moment. His face lights up as he turns with a grin. ‘Chicago.’<br/>No one says anything for a moment.<br/>‘Chicago?’ Arthur repeats, his face falling into a disappointing scowl. ‘Sure! Good luck to any bounty hunter finding us in the big city. Listen,’ Dutch says as Hosea rolls his eyes. ‘We go into the big city, we could become anyone. A choir? A church group?’<br/>Hosea scoffs. ‘Sure, what lunatic is going to believe we’re from church?’<br/>Dutch smiles. He places a hand on Hosea’s shoulder. ‘Imagination, my friend. Imagination.’</p><p>Dutch convinces Hosea Chicago is the best bet they have, and after a long conversation with Arthur, they begin to pack as fast as they can. ‘I mean, it’s far,’ Hosea says as Arthur groans, sitting on his cot with his bag on his lap.<br/>‘Sure, but a big city? Hosea-’<br/>‘I know, Arthur, but… It’ll only be for a little while, get a little money and get out of here.’<br/>Arthur isn’t totally convinced but begins to pack regardless. His bag is nearly full when he lingers on the photos he has stuck onto the side of his wagon. His father, the mugshot, sends a weird feeling down his stomach as he folds it and places it in his bag.</p><p> </p><p>‘Let’s go,’ Hosea smiles. Arthur follows close behind as they walk through the streets towards the saloon. ‘This isn’t actually that bad,’ Hosea says, opening the doors and stepping into the bar. The pair stand at the bar before residing at a table where they drink for hours.</p><p>‘You,’ Arthur begins drunkenly. ‘You really are something.’ They giggle and take another shot of whiskey.<br/>‘There you two fools are!’ They turn to find Dutch standing with his arms crossed, staring teasingly at the drunken pair. ‘Dutch!’ Hosea yells gleefully. ‘Join us, my friend. Join us!’<br/>‘Brothers, it’s nearly morning. I think I should take you back now.’<br/>Arthur nods and begins to stand wobbly. Hosea rolls his eyes, ‘You always were an insomniac, Dutch.’ He chuckles, holding Hosea by his arm. ‘Maybe.’<br/>The short walk back to their rooms seems to take a long time as Arthur and Hosea sing and shout through the streets of Chicago, with Dutch walking behind them laughing and shushing them.<br/>As they reach their rooms, Arthur struggles to open his door, the key seemingly broken and unable to fit in the door. ‘Duutch,’ he whines. ‘It’s not working.’<br/>Dutch sighs, opening the door and leading Arthur to his bed. ‘Come on now, you drunk. Get some sleep.’</p><p>The next morning, Arthur is barely able to wake up. With his head pounding and his mouth dry, he throws his legs off the bed and sits with his head in his hands. ‘Agh, you fool Morgan,’ he mumbles. He heads to the common area where he finds Dutch sat reading.<br/>‘Oh hello,’ Dutch says with a smirk. ‘How do you feel?’ He pushes a cup of coffee towards Arthur as he sits.<br/>‘Thanks,’ Arthur mumbles. ‘What time is it?’<br/>Dutch chuckles, pulling out his pocket-watch. ‘It’s currently one o’clock, my friend.’ Arthur nods and sips at his coffee. ‘Hosea come out yet?’<br/>Dutch shakes his head. ‘Not yet. Haven’t heard a peep from their room.’<br/>‘No Bessie?’ Arthur frowns. Dutch shakes his head and pours himself some coffee. ‘Nope. Nothing.’<br/>Arthur groans, finishing his coffee before standing up with a stretch. ‘Well, what we got on today, old man?’ Dutch puts down his book. ‘Well, I thought it might be helpful if we look for some money, Chicago is filled with old rich folk who have a lot more than they need.’<br/>‘Sure,’ Arthur nods. ‘You hear anything?’<br/>‘Hah, I sure did,’ Dutch smirks. ‘We’ll have to wait until Hosea’s awake-’ The door opens, Hosea steps in. ‘Ah speak of the devil,’ Dutch chuckles.<br/>Hosea’s face is pale, almost ghostly white, his mouth is agape and his eyes are glued to the floor. ‘Hosea?’ Arthur asks, stepping towards the man. His breath is quick and his hands shaking.<br/>‘Hosea, what is it?’ Dutch goes to Hosea and guides him to a chair. Arthur and Dutch exchange worried glances as Hosea shakily accepts a cup of coffee.<br/>‘B-B…’ He stutters. ‘Bessie.’ Hosea lets out a ragged breath before he puts his head in his hands. Arthur shakes his head. ‘What?’<br/>A few moments pass as Hosea catches his breath. ‘She’s dead,’ he mumbles. A tear slips down his cheek as he cries quietly. Arthur steps back, his heart hammers against his chest as he rushes to Hosea’s room. His hand hovers over the doorknob for a moment before he apprehensively opens it.<br/>The room’s dark, it stinks of alcohol and sleep. Quietly, his eyes meet the bed. It’s made, and inside lies Bessie, she’s still, no breathing. ‘Oh,’ Arthur falters. He steps into the hall and shuts the door before going back to Hosea.</p><p>Hosea’s sitting in the same position as Arthur comes back. Dutch snaps his head up with a curious frown as Arthur nods. ‘Oh Hosea,’ Dutch whispers, rubbing his back. ‘Oh I am so sorry.’ Arthur hangs back before leaving once again. He finds Boadicea hitched outside the hotel as he throws himself onto the saddle and quickly leaves the city. The lack of freedom and privacy there is in the cities suffocates Arthur. His mind is fogged like the clouds that looms over him as he rides away. Bessie, the only woman who was like a mother to him, who had cared so much for Arthur, was dead.</p><p>Arthur finds a clearing a few miles from the city. It’s a floral field next to a lake which he sits at. He splashes his face before feeding Bo and pulling out his journal.<br/>Something real strange and unexpected has happened and I really don’t know what to feel. Bessie has died, I don’t know how but yesterday she was… fine? I went out drinking with Hosea and woke up this morning and she was dead. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on Hosea’ face-<br/>‘Don’t move.’<br/>Arthur doesn’t turn around. He slowly closes his journal and puts his hands in the air as the cool metal of a gun presses against his back. ‘Okay,’ he breathes. ‘Okay.’<br/>~<br/>The camp is empty when the trail ends. Charles’s horse, Briseis, whines as he stops abruptly, the only trace that the gang has been there is the firepits, the trash, and a picture. The picture shows Arthur, Dutch and Hosea sat in a pose, Arthur holding a cigarette between his finger, eyes averted from the lens. Charles sighs, folding the picture and carefully placing it in his journal. Footsteps are spread across the camp, lines from wagon wheels lead away from the camp.<br/>‘C’mere girl,’ Charles breathes. He feeds Briseis before sitting next to her and looking around him. The area is beautiful, perched on a small cliff which overlooks a canyon, the trees surrounding them bloom with a vibrant green, the grass is soft. He takes a deep breathe in, feeling the camp, the atmosphere they created.</p><p>Eventually, Charles sits up and follows the wagon trail. The sun is starting to rise, casting a pink shadow on Charles’s face as he rides. The soft, rhythmic drum of the hooves is the only thing he hears for hours before he stops.<br/>It’s the evening, and before Charles is a city. ‘Chicago,’ he murmurs. He walks slowly to the bridge and following the streets. Charles has often found cities harder to navigate. The brick floors makes it hard to find trails, having to pick up on odd conversations to find anything. The streets are dark, illuminating by the streetlamps and hanging lights. A saloon on the corner appears, Charles hitches his horse and heads inside.</p><p>The saloon is filled with drunks, shouting and laughing, the music of a piano rings through the air as Charles heads to the bar. ‘Can I get a whiskey and a room for the night,’ he says, handing the barkeep the money. He sits at the bar for a while, drinking and listening.<br/>‘You, you really are something!’<br/>Charles turns his head, his heart stops as he’s met with the drunken sight of Arthur Morgan and Hosea Mathews. He quickly moves to the end of the bar, his eyes remaining on the pair. He orders another whiskey as a tall, black haired man approaches the two, Dutch Van Der Linde. Charles watches carefully as Arthur and Hosea stumble out their seats and out the doors, closely followed by Dutch.<br/>He follows them through the streets, listening to their drunken shouts and singing, chuckling softly to himself as they dance to their hotel. Charles hangs back as they stagger inside the hotel.<br/><em>Chicago Royale Hotel,</em> he notes in his journal before turning back to the saloon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has left kudos and commented, i appreciate you all very much! i think every few days there'll be an update, i won't leave it longer than a week :))<br/>i hope you all enjoy, leave a kudos if you enjoyed ;))<br/>thank you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Short Visit from New Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Charles and Arthur meet once again while Hosea struggles to deal with his loss.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>‘<em>Don’t move</em>.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cold metal presses against Arthur’s back, the hairs on his neck stand as he slowly gets to his feet. With his hands raised in the air, the journal falls out of his lap, he slowly turns. ‘Okay,’ Arthur breathes. ‘Okay.’ Charles slowly takes a step towards him. </span>
  <span>‘It stops here, Arthur,’ the words fall out of Charles’s mouth, his name like a silk to say. ‘You’re done.’ Arthur doesn’t reply, his eyes wander past Charles where he quickly steps back. </span>
  <span>‘Watch out!’ Arthur yells, pulling out his own revolver and shooting it past Charles. Charles whips around, a dead wolf lies lifeless inches away from him. ‘There must be more,’ Charles murmurs, stepping closer to Arthur and drawing his bow. </span>
  <span>The distant howls and crunching of the forest growls surrounds the pair as they watch the tree-line carefully. ‘They must be-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hush,’ Charles whispers. ‘Look.’ </span>
  <span>He nods to the top of a small hillside where a large black and brown wolf is stalking them. Arthur’s instantly captivated by the beast, his eyes studying each and every part of the wolf before it charges for them. Charles draws his bow further, one eye closed, and on a long exhale, he releases the arrow. It pierces the wolf perfectly, it falls to the ground, unmoving. ‘Holy shit,’ Arthur pants. ‘That was-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly,  a final wolf jumps out of the shrubs as Charles is lowering his bow and tackles him to the ground. Arthur falters for a second before reaching for his gun and sending a wild shot at the dog. It turns around with a snarl, Charles pushes himself away, reaches for his hunting knife and plunges it into the wolf’s chest. </span>
  <span>The pair stand there silent, panting and huffing as they comprehend what just happened. Arthur looks at Charles, he’s sat up, his hand holding his cheek. Blood drips through his fingers. ‘Jesus, you okay?’ Arthur asks, he steps towards Charles as he stands and reaches for a cloth. He hands it to Charles who presses it against his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You should sit,’ Arthur says. Charles nods, leaning against a rock and letting out a puff. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. Taking a swig, he sighs and hands the bottle to Arthur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You saved me,’ Charles sighs. ‘You would, er, think that would’ve been your chance to-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I ain’t like that,’ Arthur says defensively. ‘I’m not a killer, Mr Smith.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please… Call me Charles.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arthur sets up a fire as Charles’s bleeding subsides. His cheek is gashed open, the cut shaped into a lightning bolt. ‘Here,’ Arthur pulls out a medicine kit he kept. ‘I have this.’ He takes out a needle and thread for when he himself got into bad situations. </span>
  <span>‘I’ve done this before,’ he says as Charles eyes him suspiciously. Charles takes another swig of the whiskey and moves closer to Arthur. Arthur gently cups Charles’s cheek in his hand as he wipes away the dried blood. Charles winces as Arthur tends to his gash. ‘It’s going to leave a scar that’s for sure,’ Arthur mumbles as he pushes the need through. </span>
  <span>‘Hah,’ Charles chuckled. ‘Already have enough of those.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur’s hands gently hold Charles’s face as he works. He studies Arthur’s face as he works; his tongue sticks out of his mouth, his eyebrows are sculpted into a focused frown and his eyes carefully observe his wounds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Okay,’ Arthur sighed. ‘You’re done.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles traces the stitches with his fingers. ‘Thank you,’ he says solemnly. Arthur shrugs and sits back. ‘So, you gonna arrest me now?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles chuckles. He playfully throws a stone at Arthur before letting out a long sigh. ‘I don’t think I have the energy to.’ Arthur nods and reaches for his journal, he wipes away the dirt before placing it into his satchel. </span>
  <span>‘Why were you out here?’ Charles asks. Arthur pauses for a moment, it’s almost like he forgot about why he left in the first place. ‘I guess I needed space,’ he says quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘From what?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur shakes his head, his eyes meet Charles’s. ‘Someone I knew died.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh,’ Charles breathes. ‘I’m sorry.’ Arthur shrugs, he picks at a loose thread in his jeans. ‘I, er, I should probably go back. What will you do?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles sighs, he picks up his bow and gun before standing. ‘I’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sure I’ll see you around,’ Arthur smiles quietly, shaking Charles’s hand before whistling for Boadicea. ‘Stay safe.’</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur rides fast back to Chicago, his heart hammers as he slows Boadicea to a stop and rushing back to the hotel. He opens the door to the living area, Dutch is sat sipping silently on a cup of coffee. He looks up in surprise and anticipation as Arthur steps inside. ‘Hi,’ he says sheepishly. Dutch smiles a small smile and pours him a cup of coffee. ‘Here, son.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur sighs and sits opposite Dutch, he fiddles with the cup and takes a drink. ‘How’s Hosea?’ He asks. Dutch lets out a long exhale, he rubs his face and takes a swig of his coffee. ‘He wasn’t okay, Arthur. I- I couldn’t....’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur puts down his cup and stares anxiously at Dutch. ‘What? Where is he?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He went to the saloon I think.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay,’ Arthur sighs. ‘I’ll go check on him, you get some rest Dutch.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arthur takes the same path as the night before. The echoes and shadows of last night ring through Arthur’s head as his hands linger on the door handle. He pushes open the saloon door, the midday sun burning his neck as he stands there, eyeing the bar. The piano plays a quiet tune over the hushed voices. Arthur spots Hosea who’s sat at the bar leaning over a drink. Arthur hesitates for a moment before approaching the man, placing a hand on his back. ‘Hey, old man,’ he says softly, taking a seat next to Hosea. Hosea doesn’t move, or talk or look up at Arthur, only stares intently at his drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How many has he had?’ Arthur asks the barkeep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dunno, a few,’ the barkeep shrugs. Arthur nods, he slowly pushes the drink away from Hosea. ‘Okay, let’s get you back now.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea shrugs off Arthur's hand. ‘Just go,’ he mumbles. Arthur shakes his head. ‘I’m not leaving you here.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Arthur, just go away,’ Hosea hisses. He reaches for his drink and takes a swig before turning away from Arthur. His hair hangs in front of his eyes, his mouth shaped into a sullen, bitter frown, his shoulder’s hunched. Arthur takes off his hat, he strokes the string thoughtfully as he stares at Hosea. He’s broken, just as his father was when he lost Beatrice. </span>
  <span>A sudden chill fills Arthur, his heart aching and pounding as he stares at Hosea. ''M sorry,' he mumbles. A slight tingling in his hands, a tremor in his legs, sends him to the door. He steps outside, head whirling and body aching as he bumps into a man, dropping his hat. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur bends down, picking up his hat before meeting eyes with the man. ‘Oh, I wasn’t…’ </span>
  <span>Charles stands there, a small smile spread across his face. ‘We have to stop meeting like this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought you left,’ Arthur says, putting on his hat. Charles shrugs. ‘My stuff is here.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur nods, looking back at the saloon and stepping aside. ‘Well, er-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur pauses, he lets out a long exhale before shaking his head. ‘It’s, uh, it’s a long story. It’s a bit…’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles touches Arthur’s shoulder, throwing him a look of sincere sympathy. ‘Let me buy you a drink.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, no. I can’t go back in there,’ Arthur says quickly. ‘It’s probably best I just go.’ He turns away and begins to walk away before looking back at Charles. ‘I’m sure I’ll bump into you again.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charles sits by the lake, the bodies of the wolves surrounding him. Arthur has just left, the distant drum of his horse’s hooves fade as he rides further away. He sits, his back pressed against a rock, his cheek throbbing. ‘Here, girl,’ he beckons Briseis, taking another swig of whiskey and shoving the bottle into her saddle bag. He traces his fingers gently over his stitches, the feeling of Arthur’s hands and gentle touch lingering. </span>
  <span>Briseis nickers softly as he gives her some treats, brushing her softly before pulling himself onto the saddle. He’s suddenly overcome with the drunkenness of the whiskey he’s consumed, the fatigue and inebriation coating him like a blanket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trot through the forest and back on the path that led him back to the city was a slow one. His pain subsided as he tries to collect his thoughts, how fast things changed. ‘Shit,’ Charles murmurs, pulling out his journal. He tears out the pages of Arthur’s whereabouts and escapes and shoves them deep into his pockets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charles soon finds his way back to the city, he walks through the streets holding Briseis’s lead and hitches her opposite the saloon. The air is warm and thick as he crosses the streets, the sun beating down on him as he reaches the saloon doors. ‘Oh!’ He exclaims when he bumps into a man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry,’ the man mumbles, he bends down to pick up his hat without meeting Charles’s eyes. Charles smiles quietly when he realises it’s Arthur. ‘We have to stop meeting like this.’ Arthur doesn’t return the smile, his eyes are dark, his chest rising and falling quickly. He looks back nervously at the saloon. ‘I thought you left,’ Arthur murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My stuff is here,’ Charles replies. He wants to ask what’s wrong, to invite him to his room so they could talk.  Arthur steps aside and rubs the back of his neck. ‘Well, er-’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you here?’ Charles asks, facing Arthur. He looks exhausted, letting out a deep sigh. ‘It’s a long story. It’s a bit…’ He shakes his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s now or never,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Charles thinks as he places a sympathetic hand on Arthur’s shoulder. ‘Let me buy you a drink.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, no,’ Arthur says quickly, glancing back at the saloon. ‘I can’t go back in there… It’s probably best I just go.’ He turns away from Charles and walks away. Charles watches him closely, a deep curiousity runs through him about Arthur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Arthur turns around, a small, sad smile spread across his face. ‘I’m sure I’ll bump into you again.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles walks into the saloon when he sees the man at the bar. The same man Arthur had been with the night before, who was now staring bitterly into his glass, his knuckles whitening as he squeezes the cup, his face molded into an angry scowl. Charles passes slowly, eyeing Hosea carefully before retreating to his room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arthur retreats sheepishly back to Dutch who’s waiting in the living area. ‘Where is he?’ He asks as Arthur shuts the door. He takes a seat opposite Dutch, who’s sat with his arms crossed. ‘He, uh, he didn’t want me there, Dutch,’ Arthur says quietly. He takes off his hat and places it on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well of course he wouldn’t, Arthur. But you should’ve brought him back here!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He was really drunk, Dutch!’ Arthur argues. His fists tighten as Dutch shakes his head. ‘So?’ Dutch asks, raising an eyebrow. Arthur hesitates, his eyes meet Dutch’s. ‘I never told you much about my pa did I?’ Dutch doesn’t reply, only frowns as Arthur sighs. ‘He were a bastard, you knew that, but he were a bastard cause he lost my mom, his wife. After that, he drank and drank, saw me as a problem more and more. You saw where that got me, Dutch. Alone and starving and angry. I can’t do that again.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur doesn’t realise but his hands are shaking, he squeezes them, his eyes shut tight. ‘I know Hosea is grieving right now but… I don’t know. Seeing him like that brought up some bad memories, okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch exhales, nodding as he stands. ‘Alright, I understand. Bessie was taken to the morgue while you were out, I best go and-’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A rapid and hard knock at door interrupts Dutch. He presses the bridge of his nose with a sigh as he goes to open the door. ‘Mr Van Der Linde?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur turns around and looks at who interrupted them. A woman, her face pressed into a frown,a long scar shaped like a hook traces her right cheek. She’s holding up a passed out Hosea. ‘Oh!’ Dutch exclaims. ‘Oh thank you-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushes her way inside and sits Hosea in a chair, Arthur gets up and holds him upright. ‘This fool got himself into a </span>
  <em>
    <span>heap </span>
  </em>
  <span>of trouble down at the saloon!’ She hisses, her hands resting on her hips. ‘I managed to get the fools who were trynna </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill </span>
  </em>
  <span>him away and he said he was living here before he passed out.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch bends down and examines the bruises covering Hosea’s face. ‘Thank you,’ he sighs, standing and shaking the woman’s hand. ‘I cannot thank you enough Miss…’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Grimshaw,’ she smiles. ‘Susan Grimshaw.’ </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:0 miss grimshaw! i was really excited to introduce her because the boys need some order in their lives :,)<br/>thank you so much to everyone who's read, left a kudos and commented it means so much! <br/>i hope you all enjoy reading as much as i do writing it ;) please leave a kudos if you enjoy and i'll see you in the next couple of days!<br/>&lt;33</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A Strange Kindness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After a long night in the saloon, Arthur and the gang move on from Chicago and set up near a live-stock town named Franklin.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>‘We should move.’ It’s Arthur that says this. Him and Dutch have just taken a drunken Hosea to his bed, a task proven more difficult than the pair realised. Dutch thoughtfully places his fingers to the bridge of his nose. ‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘Staying here won’t do much good for Hosea, will it?’ Arthur shakes his head. Sat beside him is Susan, who is sipping on a coffee that Dutch passed her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sounds like you boys are in some rough business,’ she mutters with a tut. Dutch looks up at her with a smirk. ‘Well you are more than welcome to join us, Miss.’ Arthur shoots Dutch a surprised look, after all his talks about safety in small numbers and not to trust strangers, Arthur can see Dutch is smitten with the woman. ‘Well,’ Susan replies, a blush falling on her cheeks. ‘I would be more than happy to, on one condition.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I will not tolerate any </span>
  <em>
    <span>dirtiness, </span>
  </em>
  <span>or disrespect if I’m to join you misfits. There will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>order</span>
  </em>
  <span>,’ she says sharply. Dutch eyes her, his lips part as he grins. ‘Of course. With you here, Miss Grimshaw, I believe us </span>
  <em>
    <span>misfits</span>
  </em>
  <span> might turn into some real fine folk. Although I must ask, are you okay with camping?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Susan frowns with a scoff. ‘Mr Van Der Linde, I have slept in much worse places than the outdoors, of course I’m fine with it.’ Arthur sits there watching this exchange without muttering a word. His eyes dart back and forth as he watches Dutch slowly becoming more and more infatuated with the woman. ‘You don’t have a problem with this, do you Arthur?’ Dutch asks, a keen look in his eye. Arthur laughs lightly, ‘Course not. Welcome to the gang, Miss.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well then, let’s get some sleep,’ Susan orders, standing up and snapping her fingers. ‘If we’re to leave, we should do it as soon as possible.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hang on,’ Arthur says, waving his hands as the pair begin to leave. ‘Where we goin?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s a small town, a few miles west of here,’ Dutch says. ‘Called Franklin. I heard there was  a big, fat rich family there. Figured we could try our hand there, and if not, we’ll find somewhere else.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arthur checks his pocket-watch, it’s nearing midnight when he sneaks out his room and down to the street. It’s a warm night, the sky illuminates by clusters of stars and the moon. He takes a brisk walk to the saloon, opening the door and being met with the boisterous noise of a late drunk evening in a Chicago saloon. Arthur pushes his way to the bar, the barkeep leans in as he asks. ‘Is Mr Smith still here?’ He asks quietly. The barkeep nods, swirling a cloth around an empty glass. ‘Yup, room three.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur jogs up the stairs, the noisiness of the saloon quietening. The piano deafens as he stands outside the room, his hand hesitating before knocking. There’s a pause. ‘Who is it?’ Charles murmurs. Arthur can feel him on the other side of the door. ‘It’s, uh, it’s Arthur,’ he grumbles, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as Charles unlocks the door. ‘Arthur!’ Charles exclaims, a smile spread across his face. ‘Come in.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur murmurs a thank you as he enters Charles’s room. It smells like him, the bed is made, the desk chair pulled out and on the desk a half-written letter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was just about to post you a letter,’ Charles chuckles. ‘But here you are.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ Arthur smiles. ‘Here I am.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shall we go downstairs? I could use a drink,’ Charles asks. Arthur nods and follows him down the stairs. They take a seat at an empty table as Charles brings over two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. ‘You’d figure I’d have enough of this for one day,’ Charles smirks, handing Arthur a glass and filling it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, how are you feeling?’ Arthur asks, taking a swig. Charles presses his fingers to his face thoughtfully, his fingers lingering on the stitches. ‘Pretty okay, actually.’ They sit in silence for a moment, Arthur swirls the whiskey around in his glass considerately. ‘We’ll be leaving the city tomorrow,’ he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, figured it’d be best to leave here and forget about… You know.’ Arthur looks down into his glass as Charles nods. ‘Where are you guys heading?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘A town called Franklin, a few miles West of here.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles nods. ‘Yeah, I know it.’ Arthur clears his throat, his eyes meeting Charles. ‘I figured… Maybe if we’d see each other again, thought I’d let you know.’ A small smile escapes Charles’s lips, a burning sensation fills his cheeks. ‘Well, that was very nice of you Arthur.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sit in silence for a moment, Arthur looking shyly into his glass as Charles looks around the saloon. ‘So,’ Charles begins. ‘I have a question.’ Arthur looks up at him with an inquisitive frown. ‘When I was first contracted your bounty… They told me you and your friends robbed a bank?’ Arthur doesn’t say anything, only eyes him gingerly. ‘What do you do with $15,000?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur scoffs, pouring more whiskey into his glass and taking a swig. ‘Well, you think we’d be here if we had fifteen grand in our pockets?’ He huffed. ‘No, there’s usually people who need it alot more than us you know, orphanages, homeless… We pass it around as much as we can.’ Charles studies Arthur carefully; he’s sat back in his chair, looking down thoughtfully at his drink, his mouth turned into a gentle smile. ‘I didn’t know that,’ Charles sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. No, you see Charles, we’re the villains in your story,’ Arthur says, almost teasingly but with a hint of bitterness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t know my story,’ Charles replies pointedly. Arthur’s eyes flicker, a deep consideration fills his face. He puts down his glass, his eyes meeting Charles’s. ‘What is it then? Your story?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles shakes his head, touching the bridge of his nose as he leans back in his chair with a shrug. ‘Nothing special. My mother died when I was younger- this,’ he touches the feather that’s braided into his hair. ‘It was hers. And my father… He was a sad man. Turned to a drink whenever he could. I left when I was young, around thirteen, and have been on my own ever since. I’ve been running for a long time.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles lets out a long sigh, a frown framing his face as he stares dolefully into his drink. A sad silence fills them before Arthur clears his throat. ‘I was… I was around thirteen when I left my home as well,’ he says hesitantly. ‘Oh?’ Charles looks at him curiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yup,’ Arthur nods. ‘My father was the meanest bastard I knew. He was… killed. Right in front of me. This here’s his hat,’ he places the hat on the table. ‘I dunno why I kept it,’ he says quietly. Charles reaches for Arthur’s hand, squeezing it tightly, throwing him a dejected smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I guess we’re just two lost souls who found each other then.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arthur leaves the saloon in a dream, half-drunk, achingly conscious of his existence. The sun begins to rise, the sky a deep painful yellow, the soft glow casting a warm orange light on Arthur’s face as he wanders back to the hotel. His room is cool, his bed unmade from the morning before. The morning when Bessie died. A sudden ache gnaws at his heart as he sits on his bed, rubbing his face tiredly as the silence creeps in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Arthur?’ Dutch’s voice rings through the door as he knocks. With a sigh, Arthur stands and opens the door. ‘Up late?’ Dutch says teasingly as Arthur stands there, exhausted. ‘Come on, we’re… burying Bessie,' he says gently. 'Then leaving so- pack up’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hosea is standing by a small burial mound, a nicely crafted cross pointing out from the ground, as Arthur and Dutch approach him. Dutch stands by Hosea’s side, his hand resting comfortably on his shoulder. Arthur places a small bunch of flowers he had picked at the head of the cross. They stand there, looking solemnly at the grave, Hosea’s face unreadable, a mixture of shock and anguish. ‘She was sick,’ he croaks, his voice barely reaching above a whisper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’ Dutch asks softly, taken by surprise as he glances to Arthur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ Hosea sniffs. ‘When we left last year… Doctors found some sort of tumour- I don’t know.’ He presses his eyes shut, wiping them with the back of his sleeve. ‘She didn’t want me to say anything, figured we all had enough on our plate.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, Hosea,’ Dutch whispered. ‘I’m so-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought I had more time… She seemed okay.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur can’t say anything, except stand there, numb and shocked. Dutch rubs Hosea’s back with a deep sigh, before glancing to his left and seeing Susan has brought the wagon around. ‘Whenever you’re ready, Hosea,’ he mumbles. Hosea kicks the ground and saunters towards the wagon before whistling for his horse. With a deep exhale, Arthur follows Dutch to the wagon, who sits next to Susan as Arthur whistles for Boadicea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They amble down the road, the wagon rolling slowly through the dirt with Arthur and Hosea at their side. Dutch and Susan whisper distinctively to themselves, laughing lightly and Susan playfully slapping Dutch’s arm as Arthur glances at Hosea. He’s hunched over in his saddle, gripping the horn tightly, his face sculpted into a mournful and angry scowl. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ride to Franklin takes longer than Arthur likes. The subtle anxiousness as he rides alongside Hosea builds up before they finally pull into a clearing in a forest. They’ve barely spoken since Bessie died, Arthur’s achingly aware of his awkwardness as Hosea refuses to meet his eye. ‘This is beautiful!’ Dutch exclaims, throwing himself off the wagon, arms outstretched and taking a long inhale. ‘I already like this place.’ Arthur hitches Bo on a tree before standing by Dutch’s side as Susan pulls the wagon into the middle of the clearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Arthur, help Miss Grimshaw set up our tents would you? I’d like to have a word with Hosea.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The camp sets up quickly at the hands of Miss Grimshaw. Her flagrant barking of orders gets everything set up in an hour, with a stew boiling and a steadfast campfire for everyone to sit around. Despite this, the camp is quiet. Hosea quickly retreats to his tent, the flap shut tight behind him. Dutch mutters something about a plan and shuts himself in his own tent, leaving Arthur by alone. He decidedly takes Boadicea out, more for peace of mind than anything else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Franklin is a fairly decent sized  town. The smell of sheep and mud quickly overwhelms Arthur as he rides in. The town is bustling with people; drunks falling out of the saloon, business men sauntering out of the bank with a pleased look, farmers carrying various tools followed closely by a barking dog. Arthur hitches Boadicea outside the general store, wandering around the town in a daze before opening the saloon doors. It’s a happy atmosphere, the evening aura filling the room as glasses clink and a piano plays. He takes a seat at the bar, ordering a shot of whiskey before the barkeep asks him: ‘New in town?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sure,’ Arthur mumbles, taking the whiskey and downing it. ‘It ain’t too bad here.’ The barkeep chuckles with a shrug. ‘I guess not.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The evening quickly turns into night as the saloon becomes increasingly crowded. The peace Arthur previously wished for is now replaced with a boisterous evening spent in a saloon. Without engaging in the singing, laughing and dancing, he listens intently at the conversations around him. He swallows one more shot of whiskey before standing from the bar with the intention to leave when he hears: ‘Ah you know Colm, he ain’t gonna leave this.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops suddenly, glancing at the pair sitting next to him. He feigns a stretch before sitting back down. ‘We get the stage, </span>
  <em>
    <span>remove</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyone in it and take the loot. Easy.’ Arthur listens curiously, tapping the bar before being handed another whiskey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know, I know. It’s just… It’s women and </span>
  <em>
    <span>children,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I feel weird about it-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then I’ll find someone else to come, just come with me or don’t. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Quit complaining,</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ the man hisses, slamming his glass down on the bar before stalking out the doors. Arthur thanks the barkeep before following the man out of the saloon and down an alleyway. ‘Hey!’ Arthur barks, bringing the bridge of his hat down as the man twists around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you want?’ The man spits. Arthur grabs the man’s collar, raising his fist and plunges it into his nose. ‘You an O’Driscoll?’ Arthur growls as the man falls into the mud with a yelp. He places his boots on his chest, leaning heavily as the man gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wha-!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur sends a kick to his side, leaning down and grabbing his collar, bringing his face close to his. ‘What are your plans with the stage, boy? Tell me!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘W-we ain’t got none!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur lets out a low chuckle, raising his fist once more. ‘W-wait!’ The man pleads. ‘Okay! Please, just...okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re testing my patience, what are your </span>
  <em>
    <span>plans</span>
  </em>
  <span>?’ Arthur snarls. The man lets out a cough, his nose running with blood, staining his teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s a stage… C-coming through here tomorrow-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘When?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Morning! Morning, we… were gonna follow it out the town,’ the man sighs. Arthur throws him to the floor. ‘I see you or any of your friends tomorrow, you’re all </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead!</span>
  </em>
  <span> We clear?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man moves away from Arthur, his hand clutching his nose as he sends a scathing glare at the boy. ‘Crystal.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arthur rides back into the camp, rubbing his knuckles sorely as he hitches Boadicea. Dutch is sitting at the campfire, Susan beside him. They’re giggling about something but stop once Arthur reaches them. ‘Folks,’ he murmurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hello, Arthur,’ Dutch says gleefully. ‘Sit, my boy!’ Arthur takes a seat by the fire, raising his hands and savouring the warmth. ‘That is one mighty bruise you have,’ Dutch remarks, looking at his hands. Arthur chuckles. ‘Yup, some O’Driscoll needed a lesson.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s O’Driscolls about?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur nods. ‘Apparently so.’ Dutch rubs his face thoughtfully, before receiving a nudge from Susan. ‘These are the O’Driscolls you were telling me about?’ She asks. Dutch nods, looking at Arthur. ‘You get any information at least?’ He asks. Arthur sighs, taking off his hat and rubbing a hand through his hair. ‘I think so, but… I don’t know. I overheard them planning to rob and kill a stage full of women and children.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch growls, a scowl forming on his face. ‘Bastards,’ he spits. ‘So what happened?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I followed one of ‘em out of the saloon, gave him a few beatings, told him to stay away from the stage. I was, er, planning to go and look out for it in case they ignore my warning.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course,’ Dutch nods. ‘We’ll all go.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur hesitates as he catches a glimpse of movement from Hosea’s tent. He sighs, presses his hands together. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>All </span>
  </em>
  <span>of us, Dutch?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well, me and you,’ Dutch says, the thoughtfulness returning to his face as Susan rubs his back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arthur shuts the flap to his tent and lights the lamp. He takes out his journal and sketches Charles from when they were sat in the saloon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have had a very interesting few days. Although the grief of losing Bessie is still wavering in camp, I have found myself to have befriended a bounty hunter of all people. There is something about Charles Smith that makes him very endearing, maybe it’s his skills? The way he talks? I am not sure yet. I helped stitch him up after a particularly vicious encounter from some wolves, and happened to find him staying at the saloon in Chicago. We drank and talked until the sun rose. I can’t remember the last time I was so curious and enticed by someone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hosea on the other hand is still not good. He needs time, and I understand that, but I resent the way he’s turned to the drink to help deal with his sadness. I’m ashamed to admit his drinking reminded me greatly of my father, although I know Hosea would never turn aggressive towards me, but his bitterness and anger have brought up some bad memories. I just hope, for his sake, he’s able to become himself again. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur wakes up early the next morning, Dutch stands with a small smile, leaning against the frame of his tent. ‘You ready?’ He asks. Arthur rubs his eyes and with a groan he lets out a small nod before following Dutch to their horses. The sun has barely risen, the sky a light pink and blue. A chill sets on Arthur skin as he throws his leg over Boadicea’s saddle, following Dutch through the clearing and onto the road. ‘So, what’s the plan, Arthur?’ Dutch asks. Arthur looks quickly at Dutch in surprise. ‘You’re… asking me?’ He asks carefully. Dutch nods. ‘You were the one who found out about this, you’re taking the lead. Plus, it’s about time you take charge.’ Arthur frowns, but with a shrug he sighs. ‘The stage is coming through town anytime now, the O’Driscoll said they were gonna follow it out of Franklin and jump it I guess.’ Dutch nods, considering this. ‘I don’t think we should stop the stage,’ Arthur continues. ‘Or let them know, don’t want any panic. Let’s just follow it until it’s a safe way from Franklin, sounds good?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good plan, son. Okay, let’s ride.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pair pull into Franklin and wait near the saloon, watching for any sign of the stage. Arthur twists the reigns in his hands nervously as he stares intently around the town. The sun, a pulsing orange, beats down on his face, sending a bead of sweat to trickle down his forehead. Dutch nudges Arthur. ‘There,’ he points to a large stagecoach, being pulled by two mighty shire horses, inside are four women and three children who are laughing and talking amongst themselves. ‘Okay,’ Arthur mumbles. ‘Let’s go.’ </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A bit of a longer chapter, but I loved writing this one! I hope you all enjoy and thank you so much to everyone who liked and left comments, i love you all:)<br/>Happy belated Valentines day, and I'll see you in the next few days! Stay safe &lt;3<br/>please leave a kudos if you enjoyed, it means a lot! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Only Difference Between Old Lives And New Is Blood.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After a run in with the O'Driscolls, Dutch and Arthur plan a way to scam the Alden family. After few weeks spent in Franklin, Dutch has managed to intertwine himself with the family. Charles on the other hand spends his weeks hunting down a bounty before finding himself near Franklin.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The bullet flies past Arthur’s head as he crouches behind a fallen tree. He grabs his revolver, holding it pensively as he ducks. ‘You okay there?’ Dutch yells, who’s sitting behind a boulder, looking wildly around him. ‘Never better!’ Arthur laughs. The stagecoach has taken off at full tilt, the bullets raining as the frustrated yells from the O’Driscoll's encompass the pair. There are more O’Driscoll's than Arthur anticipated, pinning them down as the gunfire confines the boys to one side of the road. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A shotgun blast sends splinters flying into Arthur’s face; he drops his gun and rubs his eyes with a small yell. ‘Arthur!’ Dutch yells. ‘Get back up, son!’ The moment of blindness and deafening sends a wave of panic through Arthur. He opens his eyes, squinting slightly and reaches for his gun. He turns to his side to see Dutch being toppled by a man. He raises his gun, one eye shut and aims at him. A heavy weight tackles Arthur, sending a punch to his face and a kick to his side. ‘I got the little shit!’ The man yells gleefully, leaning on top of Arthur and wrapping his hands around his throat. ‘Oh, Colm is going to be so happy-’ A shot pierces the man’s chest, sending him to the ground next to the boy. Arthur scrambles to his feet and reaches for his gun, pointing it shakily at the motionless man, catching his breath. Dutch stands by his side, his own guns drawn and two bodies lying at his feet. ‘Christ,’ Arthur growls. ‘There’s one more, where is he?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Must’ve run off,’ Dutch grumbles, kicking the body. ‘Damn, they’re vicious.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pair circle the area before whistling for their horses, who were spooked and bolted when the gunfire started. ‘You okay, son?’ Dutch asks. Arthur nods with a shrug. ‘’Course. You?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hah, I ain’t dead yet.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pair chuckle, being greeted with the neighs and whinnies from Boadicea and Count. Arthur rubs Bo’s snout. ‘You alright, girl?’ He whispers, smoothing her fur before handing her a carrot. ‘You’re okay now.’ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The pair ride back into camp, the sun is at its peak, sending warmth through the air as they hitch their horses. The camp is quiet, as expected, Susan is standing at the wash basin, scrubbing at a pile of clothes, sighing in exasperation when she sees Dutch. ‘Oh you-!’ She pulls at Dtuch’s shirt. ‘You are so </span>
  <em>
    <span>filthy</span>
  </em>
  <span>!’ Dutch lets out a chuckle, swatting Susan’s hand away before strutting to the pot of stew. ‘Miss Grimshaw it is a blessing having you with us,’ he takes the spoon and sips the stew. ‘You hear much from Hosea this morning?’ She shakes her head. ‘No, not a word.’ Dutch nods, taking a bowl and filling it with stew. ‘I’ll go get him up.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur watches Dutch walk to Hosea’s tent, Susan right by his side. ‘I’m afraid you’ve caught us at a strange time, Miss,’ Arthur mumbles. Susan shrugs, continuing to scrub the clothes. ‘Rest assure you, Mr Morgan, being with you lot the past few days have been some of the most peaceful days I have had.’ Arthur chuckles, but quickly stops when he hears Dutch yell. ‘He ain’t here!’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What?’ Arthur asks, moving quickly to Hosea’s tent. It’s empty; a half-empty bottle of whiskey lay on his cot, his sheets twisted, his belongings still packed. ‘Well,’ Dutch sighs. ‘He can’t have gone far.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hang on,’ Arthur says. ‘You sure we should be going after him?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch looks at Arthur considerately, his eyebrows are shaped into a frown, his mouth open slightly. ‘Okay, okay. We’ll leave him be for a bit. Meanwhile, me and you are gonna have a chat.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘About what?’ Arthur asks, resting his hands on his hips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well, Arthur, only the richest family in Franklin of course.’ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Over the years, Dutch’s inconsistent planning rubbed Arthur the wrong way. The overachieving in jobs that resulted in gunshots or concussions, on worse occasions, it was being caught by the law. So when Dutch drags Arthur into his tent, and points to a newspaper clipping with a nasty look on his face, Arthur’s stomach sinks a little bit. ‘Here,’ Dutch points to a big article. ‘Read it.’ With a sigh, Arthur picks up the paper. ‘Jemima Alden of the Alden Family invests in… Mine share?’ Dutch nods eagerly. ‘Yup, so… Arthur, this Jemima Alden is rumoured to be amongst the richest fools in the state. How lucky for us to have found ourselves here, huh?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur looks at Dutch blankly. With a blink, he clears his throat. ‘You, uh, wanna what- </span>
  <em>
    <span>infiltrate</span>
  </em>
  <span> this Alden family?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well, I’d like to </span>
  <em>
    <span>try, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Arthur,’ Dutch takes the newspaper and slams it down on his table. ‘Listen, it’s not just Jemima Alden. There’s a Malcolm Alden, her husband, naive drunk son-of-a-bitch last I heard.’ Arthur nods slowly. He isn’t fully aware of Dutch’s intentions, but goes along nonetheless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So you think we gon’ be here for a while, Dutch?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I think so, son, and you're going to help me,’ Dutch replies with a small smile. ‘I quite like it here anyway.’ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Charles wakes up, he rubs his face out of habit, wincing at the soreness of his stitches. His room is warm as he sits up in his bed, the sun shines through the window and rests on his body. The subtle headache of a hangover drums in his head as he puts on his shirt before collecting his things and leaving the saloon. After stowing his bag on Briseis, he wanders to the sheriff’s office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hello, can I help you?’ The sheriff asks, throwing his feet off the desk and sitting up in his chair. Charles rubs the back of his next. ‘Yeah,’ he says quietly. ‘I was just wondering if there were any bounties that need collecting?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sheriff shifts nervously in his seat, staring at Charles with glaring suspicion. ‘What’s your name, boy?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Charles Smith,’ Charles replies pointedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You got a license?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles reaches into his satchel and pulls out the paper, placing it on the desk. The sheriff huffs, standing up and going to the board he had placed on the wall. He rips off a poster and hands it to Charles. ‘Here,’ he says. ‘Nasty little fucker, been seen around here recently.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles lets out a sharp exhale as he stares at the poster. The same poster that led him to Chicago; Arthur’s face, bruised and scowling, is looking back at him. ‘That’ll do you?’ The sheriff asks impatiently. With a gulp, Charles shakes his head. ‘Listen, I was just looking for a small bounty… Who else do you have?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sheriff glares at him, rolling his eyes as he tears down a new poster. ‘This one, take it or get out.’ Charles thanks him before leaving the office. The new bounty is an older, nasty looking gang leader, wanted for murder. His name is Gino Jameson, last seen in the West Highlands, around Lattimore, wanted after attempting to rob a house, resulting in the murder of a child and a mother. Charles sighs as he places the poster in his journal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Gino Jameson, Lattimore, $500.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shutting his journal, he leads Briseis out of the city and finally makes his way to the West Highlands. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur shifts nervously in his seat. He’s wearing a suit Dutch had tailored; the tie digs into his throat as Arthur tries to stretch it out. It’s been around two weeks since they’ve arrived in Franklin and Dutch has managed to get them a meeting with Malcolm Alden. ‘Would you quit fidgeting?’ Dutch hisses. Fancy life has come quite easily to him; he speaks eloquently to the maids and servants, sits with a defining posture that makes Arthur feel like a child. ‘I don’t see why you had bring me to this,’ Arthur bickers with a frown. Dutch doesn’t reply, only stares intently at the closed door. Arthur looks around the study they’re in; a magnificent bookshelf holds hundreds of hardbound books, the desk they’re sat opposite is engraved with impressive woodwork, and an inkwell holds a great fountain pen. Although envious, Arthur tries to picture himself living in a place like this, where the halls are hard to navigate and the hundreds of rooms that each hold different stories and meanings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door opens, the creaking makes Arthur snap up and pay attention. Dutch stands and adjusts his suit, Arthur follows him and does the same. ‘Ah,’ Malcolm begins. He’s an older man, with hair’s graying and a perfectly white beard. ‘You must be Mr. Kilgore! I’m Malcolm Alden.’ Dutch and him shake hands. ‘Nice to meet you, sir,’ Dutch says with a smile only Arthur can recognise as fake. ‘This here’s my business partner, Arthur Mathews.’ Arthur smiles shortly before taking a seat next to Dutch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So,’ Malcolm begins. He presses his hands together and leans forward on the desk. ‘What can I help you with?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch sits back in his chair with a sigh. ‘Me and my friend here are new to the area. You see, we’ve heard rumour of some great business opportunities I guess we thought we might take advantage of.’ Arthur nods, trying to mimic behaviour as much as possible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh?’ Malcolm says thoughtfully. ‘Please, carry on.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well, Mr. Alden, we heard tell of your family. You see, Arthur and I have experience in investment, specifically with gold and coal? Your family seems to be very popular in that front.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm chuckles lightly with an amused grin. ‘You could say that. But, I’ve never heard you before, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. Kilgore.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch nods. Arthur watches Malcolm carefully as Dutch clears his throat. ‘No, you see we prefer to work anonymously. We’d rather not draw attention to ourselves.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why’s that?’ Malcolm asks. The tension is suddenly palpable, Arthur’s stomach tightens with anxiety. He dares not look at Dutch, only feigns confidence as he continuously stares at Mr. Alden. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I have always found it easier, Mr. Alden, that through working anonymously there is far less competition to deal with as no one knows who to target!’ Dutch chuckles. Malcolm laughs lightly, hitting his leg as he leans in. ‘I have to give you that, Mr. Kilgore.’ He opens the desk-drawers, pulling out a bundle of papers. He shuffles through them before pulling one out and sliding it to Dutch. ‘This,’ Malcolm begins. ‘Is a contract, Mr. Kilgore. I'm always willing to accept new patrons, so if you like what you see, I’ll have someone arrange us another meeting but I’d like you to consider this carefully, okay? I’ll discuss this with my wife but I am very happy to begin business with you.’ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch inhales sharply as they leave the house. The satisfied look on his face frustrates Arthur as they walk down a path to their hitched horses. ‘You look pleased,’ Arthur grumbles. Dutch nods, slapping Arthur on the back. ‘Of course I am, son.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You do realise we’re ain’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>fancy fops that have a… what was it? Investment business? It’s the biggest bullcrap I have heard being spout out of your mouth.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch laughs lightly, as if he doesn’t hear Arthur blatant frustrations. ‘How about we get a drink? Saloon ain’t far from here.’ Arthur doesn’t reply, only nodes lightly and follows Dutch to the saloon. The sun is setting, meaning it is the primal hour for the drunks to be booming around the saloon. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>‘After you,’ Dutch smiles, opening the door and holding it for Arthur. Arthur steps inside and instinctively looks to the bar. He almost falters when he spots the familiar blonde hair and sad figure of Hosea. ‘Oh,’ he breathes without moving from the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What is it?’ Dutch asks, but stops when he spots the man. ‘Oh.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch doesn’t stop, but walks up to the bar and places a soft hand on Hosea’s shoulder. ‘Hello-’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hosea shrugs off Dutch’s hand sharply before turning to face him. His eyes are burning hot, but soften slightly when he realises it’s Dutch who’s smiling sadly at him. ‘Oh, sorry,’ he murmurs. ‘What are you doing here?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Dutch takes a seat next to Hosea, Arthur does the same, smiling softly at Hosea. ‘We’re grabbing a drink,’ Dutch says, tossing the barkeep a few dollars. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yup,’ Arthur agrees, taking the shot of whiskey. Hosea nods and stares into his glass. Arthur clears his throat. ‘Me and Dutch have just been at the Alden’s place. ‘Course <em>he’s</em> managed to sneak his way in there,’ Arthur chuckles, sipping at another shot the barkeep placed before him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You know me, boys,’ Dutch begins. ‘We rob fellas as need robbing.’ He says this almost as a cheer, downing a whiskey and clapping Hosea lightly on the back. Arthur shakes his head, glancing at Hosea who has a small smile on his face. ‘Yeah we know, Dutch,’ Arthur groans. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The night doesn’t last very long; Hosea mumbles something about heading back to camp and Arthur and Dutch figure it’d been a long day anyhow. They ride back together, mostly in silence, Hosea and Arthur riding side by side with Dutch in front. The sky illuminates the boys, casting them in golden shadows as the sun sets. There’s a certain calm atmosphere as they ride back to camp. Hosea’s face is sculpted into particular thoughtfulness; his eyes are squinting slightly, his eyebrows knit and lips pursed together. He’s riding gently, stroking the horn of his saddle. Arthur smiles softly as he watches him, so lost in his own head. The subtle drum of the hooves resonates through the air, the quiet movement of the leaves and the crunching of the dry grass sets Arthur into a similar peaceful daze, treasuring this moment where the Old Guard are moving once again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The evening transforms into night, and the elusive fatigue creeps up on Arthur. He wishes everyone a goodnight and falls into his tent. He opens his journal, the dim light from his lamp illuminates the pages as he sketches Hosea riding his horse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Today may have been the best day we have had in a long time. Some of the light has returned to Hosea’s eyes, Dutch has managed to sneak his way into one of the richest families in the state and I am here, acting as a ‘business partner’, making sure nothing goes awry I guess. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a relief of sorts to be able to see Hosea slowly but surely get back to his old self. He’s like a father to me, and I love him as one. Seeing him become so devastated at Bessie’s passing has hurt me more than I can say. How I could not help him do to my own fear, I will always be ashamed of it. Of my past. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I guess things are moving forward, slowly, but they are. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hunting down Gino Jameson takes longer than Charles liked. He’s slippery and fast, and has plenty of men covering his tracks. It’s only when he finds himself back at Chicago after wandering all over the West Highlands, does he nearly catch him. At the edge of the city, he finds a torn piece of shirt. It’s the same he’s seen Jameson where, particularly the day before when they had a nasty gunfight. Charles escaped unscathed, Jameson not so much. He’s so close he can almost smell Jameson; the tracks are fresh but lead into the city. With a sigh, Charles leads Briseis through the streets, following closely to the only tracks he can find, and hitches her outside and old bar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hey,’ Charles says. He places Jameson’s poster on the bar. ‘You seen this man?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The barkeep looks at the poster carefully as Charles studies his eyes for any sign of recognition. ‘Why,’ the barkeep asks gingerly. ‘What’d he do?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Killed a mother and their child. Leads a vicious gang, now have you seen him?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The barkeep rubs the back of his neck and nods to the upstairs. ‘He’s in room one.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles thanks him and quickly rushes upstairs; he doesn’t bother knocking, only listens delicately at the door before kicking it open. ‘Stay there!’ He removes his gun from his holster and points it at Jameson. ‘You move I will not </span>
  <em>
    <span>hesitate</span>
  </em>
  <span> to shoot you, Mr. Jameson,’ Charles hisses, stepping towards the man. Jameson chuckles apathetically, half-raising his hands in the air. ‘Oh I am so sick you following me, Smith.’ </span>
  <span>Charles doesn’t reply. He removes his lasso, gun still pointed at Jameson and knocking his head with the butt of the gun. Jameson falls, and with a huff, Charles ties his hands and legs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh, I thought you were dead,’ the sheriff snides as Charles throws Jameson in a cell. ‘No,’ Charles mumbles. ‘Hard man to catch.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That he is,’ the sheriff says slowly. ‘Well, Mr. Smith, as promised- five hundred dollars.’ The sheriff throws a stack of bills onto the desk. With a nod, Charles takes it and feels the sheriff’s eyes burning into him as he leaves the office. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The need to get away bores into Charles’s mind as he wanders down the road. He’s riding towards Franklin, and Arthur pops into his mind. He wonders if he’s still there, would he want to see him if he was?  The sun is setting, the cool evening air putting a chill on Charles’s arms. The area surrounding Franklin is beautiful; open, vibrant fields with  few trees. Opposite the road is a large, busy forest, around two miles away from the town. The pulls Briseis to the forestry, the crunching of leaves and sticks fill Charles with a sense of longing he didn't know he had. To be away from the city, alone in the middle of nowhere; it’s the peace he craves. Following Jameson across the West Highlands has taken a lot out of him, so with deep satisfied exhale, he hitches Briseis on a small tree before setting up his camp. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With only the campfire to illuminate his surroundings, Charles sits comfortable in front of the fire, the embers flickering around him. It’s quiet, only the odd crunching of leaves and crickets to hear. Sleep comes almost immediately. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles’s rest doesn’t last long as he jolts awake to a shifting around him. He lies still, listening carefully when he hears the distant voices of a group of men move through the woods. He moves slowly out of his bedroll and looks around him when he spots the distant, dim light of a lamp moving through the trees. The voices are too far to hear, so he quickly and quietly packs his belongings, placing them on Briseis’s saddle, and moving towards the men. He doesn’t take his horse, leaving her hitched to the tree. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Let’s just get back to that little shit, huh? I’m sick of hearing ya talk.’ He hears one of the men say. Their accents are distinguished, Charles knows immediately they’re O’Driscolls. He almost turns around to leave before he hears: ‘Yeah and next we’re getting Van Der Linde, once he hears we have his boy, he’ll come raging through here.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah but it’s been days now I’m getting sick of waiting-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh just shut up, would ya?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles’s heart hammers against his chest, his head numbing as he listens intently. His stomach turns as he hears Dutch’s name; it’s Arthur. Charles swallows his fear, pressing his hands together tightly and follows the O’Driscolls.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you to everyone who's enjoying the story so far, ily all! hopefully a bit more charthur in the next few chapters :0<br/>please leave a kudos if you enjoyed, it means a lot! &lt;3</p>
<p>stay safe &lt;33</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Old Friends in Low Places</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After being captured by the O'Driscolls, Arthur endures a hard few days after being caught and tortured.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s the evening and Arthur is sitting in his tent, journal on his lap and a beer in his hand. He takes a swig.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>While I thought things would be easier, it feels like Hosea’s eyes darken every day. I have mostly tried to keep my distance while he’s in a bad way, but Dutch? Day by day, he is getting more and more frustrated with him. We only have each other, and that’s why this is so-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Get out of my face, Dutch!’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur doesn’t hesitate to let the journal fall out of his lap as he stands and leaves his tent. He looks around where he finds Dutch and Hosea standing at the edge of the camp. Dutch has a cross look on his face, Hosea’s back is to him. Arthur walks over to them where their argument becomes clearer. ‘It is three in the afternoon, Hosea,’ Dutch hisses. ‘And you are blind drunk!’ Arthur can see now Hosea’s swaying on his feet, gripping the tree to keep steady. ‘And what business is it of yours?’ Hosea growls. With a scoff, Dutch throws his hands in the air. ‘What do you think, you fool? It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>my business when you come back to camp like this-!’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What on earth are you two bickering about?’ Arthur says, looking expectantly at the pair. Hosea rolls his eyes and lets out a grim laugh. ‘Oh and here </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>come!’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur shakes his head. ‘What'd you mean?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hosea’s face is close to Arthur’s, his eyes burning and threatening. He takes a deep breath in, teeth bared. Arthur stumbles back, Hosea’s face softens slightly when he sees fear flash through Arthur’s eyes.  He scoffs, looking back at Dutch before turning and walking back into camp. Arthur watches him leave, the familiar breathlessness returning, his hands numbing, his mind racing with the familiar fear. Dutch places a hand on his shoulder but Arthur shrugs it off and makes way to Boadicea. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch calls for him as he rides out of camp. Arthur’s riding quick and harsh, pushing Boadicea to get away from the camp as fast as possible. He rides past town, and down to a nearby stream where stumbles off Boadicea and walks to the water. His chest is tight and uncomfortable as he rubs his face, sitting beside the water. He lets out a choked exhale, sitting on the river bank and staring hard at the ripples in the water. He ignores Boadicea’s whines behind him, he hears her stamping her feet impatiently and nervously. He lets out a long, shaky exhale, his hands holding a slight tremor. ‘Calm down,’ he hisses to himself, his eyes shut tight. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Boadicea’s whinnies and stomping sends a turning in Arthur’s stomach. He stills, listening intently when he hears a faint stepping behind him. Slowly, he reaches for his gun when he hears a voice, clear and demanding, behind him. ‘Don’t reach for that gun,’ the man says. Arthur stops. ‘Okay.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And don’t turn around.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur nods. ‘Alright.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cold metal of a shotgun presses against Arthur's neck sending goosebumps to rise through his body. The man chuckles before twisting the gun and striking Arthur in the head, his body falling in one swift motion as his world fades to an unconscious gloom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Arthur wakes up, he’s lying next to a tent. It takes a moment for him to understand the voices around him, the brightness of the sun burning harshly in his eyes as he blinks awake. ‘We done as Colm said, why can’t we just finish him now?’ Someone says. Arthur slowly shifts onto his side as his vision slowly becomes less blurred.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Cause you know how he gets when we-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘This </span>
  <em>
    <span>rat</span>
  </em>
  <span> killed Billy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur twists onto his stomach, his head pounds in a rhythmic drum. He quickly gets to his feet and runs down the embankment the camp is perched on. His impaired vision and drumming ears make his escape short-lived. The yells of the men behind him send a surge of fear rising through his stomach when the rope of a lasso catches his feet and trips him. Arthur lands on his chest with a gasp, before a hand reaches and turns him onto his back. ‘I’m sick of this son-of-a-bitch!’ One of the men clambers onto Arthur's stomach, shotgun raised and pressed hard against his shoulder. A loud blast rings through Arthur’s ears, his shoulder ripped through with a voracious power and pain as a searing fire fills his body. It doesn’t take long before darkness colours his vision, the ringing in his ears subsiding as a heedless state takes over his body. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The next moment’s pass in flashes of light, Arthur’s sentience coming and going. Sometimes he can hear people talking around him, most times he’s dreaming. He dreams about riding through a field he used to go to often before the gang had to move. The bright green grass, a variation of herbs and colourful plants and fruit suited Arthur’s need for quiet. He’d take Boadicea out, pitch a tent, and ride hard from one end of the field to the other until they were panting and sweatin. Then when Bo was tired, he’d hitch her near the tent and walk back to the top of the field, satchel empty, and fill it with herbs and plants. Sometimes he’d hunt a deer and cook the meat. He’d sleep under the stars for hours, aching for company but also mesmerised by the countless stars that made him feel like there were beings all around him. Bo wouldn’t whine, only snort happily when Arthur fed her berries and removed her saddle, brushing her softly and giving her the chance to roll in the grass. </span>
  <span>Arthur then would draw for hours and hours, studying Boadicea’s face and body before turning the page and drawing the valley. He’d wander off and find an oblivious wolf to sketch before sneaking away and repeating the night. Sometimes Hosea would come to find him. ‘You’ve been away for days,’ he’d say and Arthur would laugh. ‘Feels like forever.’ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then the pain comes. Arthur’s shoulder, ripped in half, the ringing in his ears coming back. He feels the kicks and punches as he’s thrown to the ground, laughter and shouting surrounding him in a whirpool. His ribs send a flash of pain as he breathes in, his stomach aches as the bruises set in, his head hammering, eyes throbbing and heavy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s no question that a few days have passed when Arthur comes to. He’s tied to a tree, lying uncomfortably on his side as the ropes dig into his wrists. The first thing Arthur notices is the pain; it roars through his body like a raging fire, his shoulder throbbing and aching, the pain stretching to his stomach. He blinks awake, one eye at a time as the sun shines bright in his face. He’s parched, mouth dry and face sun-baked. ‘Oh, we thought you was dead!’ Someone says with a cheer. They yell something indistinct and soon five or more men are surrounding Arthur. Someone bends down and slaps his cheek, forcing him to wake with a start. ‘Come on now, sleeping beauty. Wakey wakey.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The laughter sends a chill through Arthur as he’s lifted and sat up against the tree. He sends a searing glare to the man who’s sitting in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh I’d watch your eye there, friend,’ the man hisses. ‘You see, Colm wants you alive… But you can live with one eye.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur stares at the man with a huff, he can feel his eyes are swollen but musters a scowl. ‘Colm?’ He asks. His voice is rough and husky, sounding only above a whisper. The man nods, a grim smile curls his face. ‘Colm O’Driscoll, boy, and you just gone and pissed him off,’ the man chuckles. He stands up, looking down on Arthur before using all his force to send a debilitating kick to Arthur’s stomach. The breath is knocked out of Arthur, he gasps as the burning pain in his abdomen overwhelms him. He clenches his teeth, letting his head hang low as the darkness returns once again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s the sudden hush of silence that wakes him up. He stirs, pulling at the rope around his wrists, wincing at the flash of pain when he moves his arm. ‘Tsk, tsk, tsk,’ a man says. Arthur looks up slowly, careful not to send another wave of pain through his arm. The man grabs Arthur’s chin and jerks his head up. Arthur groans, shutting his eyes tight before opening them to look at the man sitting in front of him. He scoffs when he sees the familiar grim smile and twisted eyes of Colm O’Driscoll staring at him teasingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hello Colm,’ Arthur says, a feigned smile curling on his lips. Colm stands up, looking down at Arthur. He sends away the O’Driscolls that were staring heatedly at Arthur, leaving the pair alone. Arthur adjusts himself, sitting up and resting his head against the tree.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. What have you gotten yourself into?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>'You tell me, Colm,' Arthur jibes, staring at Colm with a burning resentment. Colm laughs. ‘You always was an arrogant little shit.’ Colm raises his fist and pummels it into the side of Arthur’s head. A wave of distortions casts through Arthur’s mind as he struggles to keep himself upright. He groans, blinking hard as Colm snickers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What you want, Colm?’ Arthur asks, his voice hoarse and holding a slight tremble. Colm circles Arthur, eyeing him carefully. This sends a chill through Arthur as he keeps his eyes on him. ‘You,’ Colm begins. ‘And Dutch? Yeah… You’ve caused a lot of problems for me. I guess we’re gon’ have to do something about that ain’t we?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Colm takes out his revolver, holding the barrel of the gun and using the butt and slamming it into Arthur’s side. Arthur gasps, coughing and wheezing as he attempts a feeble laugh. ‘Yeah, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>laying into me.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Colm sneers, his grip tightening. He roughly drags Arthur to his feet, the rope digging gratingly into his wrists, a waft of agony pierces his shoulder; nausea creeping through his body as his face turns a sudden white as if doused in powder. Arthur can barely stay on his feet, his body faltering under his weight. ‘Oh Arthur,’ Colm whines. ‘It’s been too long… I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>missed </span>
  </em>
  <span>you.’ Colm knees Arthur in the stomach before slamming his fist into the side of Arthur’s cheek. He lands uncomfortably on his side in a crumpled heap. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Charles watches the men carefully. They walk for a little while before Charles spots a light in the distance. He stops when he steps on something; he feels the ground when he finds a hat that he recognises as Arthur's. Taking it, he ties it to his belt and stares carefully at the light. It’s a camp, with an old cabin and a few wagons set up surrounding it. He sees a campfire, with a hoard of drunk men singing and laughing amongst each other. Charles sits behind a tree, listening, before turning the corner and studying the camp. The cabin seems more or less empty, with everyone around the campfire with a few stragglers scattered behind the wagons. His eyes move past them to the back of the camp, where a man is standing by a tree. He’s looking down at something, kicking and pummeling someone tied to a tree. Charles’s heart fastens and his chest tightens as he moves closer. ‘Shit,’ he hisses when he sees Arthur’s unconscious body tied awkwardly against the tree, his head hanging forward. He’s covered in blood, his face is screwed tight; eyes bruised and face cut. With a sharp exhale, Charles sits behind the tree, listening to the ruckus the men are creating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A distraction. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles opens his satchel, alcohol, a match and some cloth are all he needs. He grips the bottle tightly, shoving the cloth in the opening and dousing it in the alcohol. He crouches and sneaks to the other side of camp, moving far enough away before throwing the bottle at a wagon. A fire roars, ripping through the wagon and gripping the cabin. Charles moves away quickly as the men panic and run to the fire. The chaos that ensues allows Charles to reach Arthur without any interruption. He’s quiet and steadfast, moving in the shadows of the camp and hiding behind Arthur’s tree. Drawing his knife, he cuts at the rope carefully, holding it once it’s loose and gently releasing Arthur’s arms. Charles looks back at the camp, the fire is bigger than ever, men running over each other in a panic. Charles wraps his arms around Arthur’s chest, dragging him behind the tree. He waits as he hears footsteps running past before dragging him into the tree-line. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Charles gets him far enough away before whistling for Briseis. Arthur’s completely limp as Charles lays him down. His hand hovers over the yawning hole in Arthur’s shoulder; he’s stock-still, the pain palpable in his face, through his eyes screwed tight, furrowing eyebrows and pursed lips.  Briseis trots up to the pair, nickering quietly and stamping her hooves. ‘Okay, my friend,’ Charles murmurs gently. He lifts Arthur up, wrapping his arms under Arthur’s and leaning him against his chest. Briseis waits patiently as Charles lifts Arthur and sits him in the front of the saddle, before pulling himself up. Charles wraps his one arm around Arthur’s waist, and the other guiding Briseis away from the camp. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>bit of a more sad chapter but the next few will be a bit more charthur focused! I've also been looking at rdr2 mission names and taking inspiration from those for chapter titles :,)<br/>if you enjoyed please leave a kudos, it means a lot! &lt;33<br/>stay safe &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the first chapter to my bounty hunter au! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed, it means alot :)) enjoy! </p><p>i’ll be taking a break from this fic just to get my footing back with it! &lt;33</p></blockquote></div></div>
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